There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being hurt by the person who promised to love you.

It is the loneliness of sitting beside someone at dinner and feeling completely alone; rehearsing a simple question in your head because you are afraid of how it might be received; or apologizing when you are not sure what you did wrong, simply because keeping the peace feels safer than telling the truth. It is the loneliness of living in a home that looks perfectly normal from the outside while quietly losing pieces of yourself on the inside.

When we talk about domestic violence, we often picture the most visible forms of abuse – the bruises, police reports, broken objects, and the moments when a situation becomes impossible to hide. But abuse does not always leave a mark that someone else can see.

Sometimes, the wounds are deeper, hidden from plain view, but just as present. Sometimes it’s the constant anxiety of trying not to upset someone, the overwhelming dread of walking on eggshells to keep the peace, the growing belief that your memories cannot be trusted, your needs are unreasonable, or your worth depends on how well you keep someone else happy.

And sometimes, the deepest wounds are spiritual. They come when the very beliefs, promises, and sacred commitments that once offered comfort are turned into tools of control.

During Domestic Violence Awareness Month, we need to make room for these stories, too. Because a person does not have to be physically harmed to be harmed. And a home does not have to look broken to be an unsafe place to live.

When love becomes something you have to earn

Emotional abuse rarely announces itself with a clear beginning.

It may start with comments that seem small enough to dismiss. A joke at your expense. A criticism disguised as concern. A partner who questions your friends, your decisions, your memories, or your intentions until you begin questioning them yourself.

Perhaps you hear that you are too sensitive. Too emotional. Too difficult. That no one else would tolerate you. That if you were a better partner, a better spouse, or a better person, the relationship would be different. Over time, the goalposts keep moving.

You become more careful with your words. You stop bringing up certain subjects. You learn which moods require silence and which disagreements are not worth the emotional cost. You may begin changing your behavior not because you believe you are wrong, but because you are exhausted by what happens when you refuse to agree.

Eventually, you might find yourself asking a devastating question: How did I become someone I barely recognize?

The National Domestic Violence Hotline’s explanation of emotional abuse describes behaviors such as humiliation, manipulation, intimidation, excessive monitoring, and isolation. These behaviors can erode a person’s confidence and sense of self, even when no physical violence is present.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention also recognizes psychological aggression, including communication intended to harm or control a partner emotionally, as a form of intimate partner violence.

These definitions matter because they give language to experiences that can otherwise feel impossible to explain.

Still, recognizing abuse is rarely as simple as reading a list of warning signs. You may love the person hurting you. You may remember the beginning of the relationship, when everything felt different. You may see their goodness in certain moments and wonder how both things can be true. You may have built a life together, raised children together, or made promises you never imagined breaking. You may not be ready to leave. You may not even be ready to call what is happening abuse. None of that means your pain is imaginary.

You do not have to hate someone to acknowledge their behavior is hurting you. You do not have to prove they are a terrible person to recognize you deserve to be treated with dignity. And you do not have to wait until things get worse to take your own well-being seriously.

When faith becomes a weapon

Spiritual abuse can be particularly difficult to name because it takes something deeply personal and turns it against the person who holds it sacred.

For some, faith is a source of hope, community, identity, and comfort. It offers a language for forgiveness, a framework for commitment, and a belief that love should extend beyond our own shortcomings. 

But what happens when those same teachings are used to demand silence? When forgiveness is treated as permission for someone to continue hurting you? When submission is demanded without accountability? When questioning harmful behavior is framed as rebellion? When you are told that leaving an abusive relationship means you have failed God, broken your vows, or abandoned your family?

What happens when someone uses your desire to be faithful, forgiving, or good to convince you that you must endure what is destroying you?

The National Domestic Violence Hotline’s resource on spiritual abuse explains that abuse can involve ridiculing someone’s beliefs, preventing them from practicing their faith, using religious teachings to shame or manipulate them, or invoking those teachings to excuse other abusive behavior.

Spiritual abuse can occur in religious relationships, intimate partnerships, and faith communities. It is not limited to one denomination or belief system. And it can leave a person wounded in more than one place.

They may lose trust in their partner, themselves, their faith community that failed to protect them, or even question whether the God they once turned to for comfort could still welcome them.

For someone who has been taught that a good person always forgives, always sacrifices, and always puts others first, choosing safety can feel like a moral failure. It is not.

Forgiveness does not require continued access to you. Faith does not require you to accept abuse. And a commitment to love does not mean surrendering your right to safety.

You can value marriage and still acknowledge that a relationship is harmful. You can believe in grace and still establish boundaries. You can love someone and decide that living with their behavior is no longer sustainable.

You are allowed to seek counsel from people who will take your safety seriously, rather than people who pressure you to preserve the appearance of a relationship at any cost. You are allowed to ask hard questions. And you are allowed to find your way back to your spiritual life, or discover a different relationship with faith, on your own terms.

The invisible cost of surviving

One of the hardest things about emotional abuse is that the behaviors that help you survive it can eventually become the things you struggle to understand about yourself.

Maybe you have become hyperaware of other people’s moods. You can recognize a shift in someone’s expression before they say a word. Maybe you overexplain your decisions because you have learned that a simple answer is never enough.

Maybe you apologize constantly, avoid conflict, even when something matters deeply to you. Maybe you feel guilty resting, setting boundaries, or doing something that makes you happy if someone else might disapprove.

Perhaps you have difficulty making decisions because you have spent years being told your judgment is flawed.

Or perhaps you are angry about what happened, what you tolerated, the time you lost, or that you are still dealing with the consequences long after you have begun to understand them. These responses do not make you weak.

They may be ways you learned to navigate an environment that felt unpredictable or emotionally unsafe.

The CDC’s overview of intimate partner violence recognizes these experiences can have lasting effects on health and well-being. The consequences are not limited to what happens during an argument. They can follow a person into other relationships, daily decisions, and their understanding of themselves.

Healing, then, is not simply a matter of deciding to be happy or moving on.

It can mean learning to recognize your own feelings again, discovering that disagreement does not have to lead to punishment, that another person’s disappointment is not automatically evidence you have done something wrong. It can mean learning to trust your memory, your instincts, and your ability to make decisions. And it can mean grieving.

Grieving the relationship you believed you had, the future you imagined, and the version of yourself who existed before you spent so much energy trying to keep everything together are all completely normal responses. You may grieve even if you are the one who chose to leave. 

Healing is rarely a straight line. There may be days when you feel strong and days when you question everything again. That does not erase your progress.

You are not failing because it takes time to feel like yourself again.

Finding your way back to yourself

There is no single moment when every survivor suddenly sees the situation clearly, makes a plan, and walks confidently into a new life.

For me, the first step was much smaller.

It started with admitting to myself that something felt wrong. Then I confided in a small group of people I trusted – slowly at first without making excuses.

One of the best things you can do for yourself is to reach out to a counselor or domestic violence advocate who understands emotional abuse and can help you explore your options without pressuring you into a decision.

Then, eventually, I began to learn what healthy boundaries look like. It’s something I still struggle with, but knowledge is power.

Eventually, you can start to imagine a life in which you are not constantly bracing for the next argument. And sometimes, finding your way back to yourself begins with a sentence you have not been able to say in a long time:

My experience matters, too.

You do not have to figure everything out today. You do not need a perfectly executed plan for the rest of your life before you take the next step.

If you are considering leaving, know that separation can sometimes increase danger. A domestic violence advocate can help you think through your circumstances and develop a personalized safety plan. If leaving is not possible or does not feel safe right now, you still deserve support and options.

Healing may involve professional counseling, supportive friendships, financial planning, practical assistance, spiritual care, or simply having someone listen without telling you what you should have done differently.

For some people, recovery also means reclaiming parts of themselves they pushed aside: 

You are allowed to want more than survival

One of the cruelest effects of prolonged emotional abuse is that survival can begin to feel like the most you are entitled to expect. You stop asking whether you are happy and start asking whether things are bad enough to justify wanting something different.

You measure a good day by whether there was an argument. You feel relief when someone is in a good mood. You call it peace when you have managed to avoid conflict. But the absence of an argument is not the same as emotional safety.

Safety means being able to speak honestly without fearing retaliation; being able to maintain relationships with other people, have your own thoughts, and make decisions about your life; and it means being treated as a human being with dignity, not as a problem to be managed or a person to be controlled.

You are allowed to want that.

You are allowed to want a relationship in which kindness is not conditional, apologies lead to accountability, and love does not require you to disappear.

And if you are not there yet, if you are still sorting through what happened or trying to understand what is possible, you have not failed. You are still worthy of help.

A word for the person who recognizes themselves in these words

If you have spent years wondering whether you are imagining things, exaggerating, or somehow responsible for the way another person treats you, please hear this:

• You do not have to earn the right to feel safe.
• You do not have to become a better version of yourself to deserve kindness.
• You do not have to convince everyone around you that your experience is real before you seek help.
• And you do not have to make a life-changing decision today to begin caring for yourself differently.

Your story is yours to tell, in your own time and in your own words. You deserve support that respects your choices, recognizes the complexity of your circumstances, and prioritizes your safety.

The wounds that no one else can see are still wounds. They deserve care.

And the person you may have lost sight of while trying to survive is still there, deserving of a future that is not defined by fear.

You are more than what happened to you. You are more than what someone told you about yourself. And your life is worth protecting.

Domestic violence resources: Help is available

If you or someone you love is experiencing emotional, psychological, spiritual, physical, or other forms of domestic abuse, confidential support is available. You do not have to experience physical violence to reach out, and you do not have to be ready to leave to ask for help.

If you are in immediate danger, call 911 if it is safe to do so.

National Domestic Violence Hotline

• Call: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
• Text: START to 88788
• Online chat and information: thehotline.org
• Offers confidential support, information about abuse, and safety-planning assistance.

National resources and safety planning

• Identify abuse and explore support options
• Create a personalized safety plan

Tennessee resources

• Tennessee Statewide Domestic Violence Helpline: 1-800-356-6767
• Nashville Family Safety Center: 615-880-1100
• Nashville YWCA Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-334-4628
• Nashville Office of Family Safety: Domestic violence support and services

A note about digital safety: If someone monitors your phone, computer, browsing history, or messages, seeking help online may create additional risk. If possible, use a safer device, such as a trusted friend’s phone or a public computer, and speak with an advocate about technology safety. No browsing method is guaranteed to leave no trace.

You deserve support without judgment, pressure, or blame. Reaching out does not commit you to leaving. It simply opens the door to information, options, and someone who will listen.